bone blog london #4

Dear Bonesters,

Yesterday was Bone Film visits east end and hackney, a day of spiritual rest, bunker said he should've gone to church. Such high hopes for sunday roast, barely edible, though lancashire sausage was smoking. Walking through spitalfields market ally was recognized by the Bangaladesh cigarette vendor as Finsbury Park, it wasn't even her neighborhood, apparently she does get around. It was 4 o'clock when bunker got busted bringing contraband alcohol from his man purse into the parking lot/bar/south african bar b q, his response, I'm on a budget.

Bricklane, spitalfields the anarchy of london architecture from the upper deck of the # 141 bus to Finsbury park. After a few pints, it was time to hit the theater, so we took the cab ride from hell. Staso started screaming at the 2nd bangaledesh cab driver, who didn't where portobello road was. Study a fucking map. Oh, we're not racist.

London's fear of ice, is getting on bunkers nerves.

It's time to put CELLULOID # 1 to bed, after a year and 4 months on the festival circuit we've come to realize we are FILMMAKERS not film tourists. The LEGENDARY bonefilm PR machine is tired and squeaky, while the bone film production team is gearing up with a new script, "CELLAR a triptyct" which has been designed to premiere at CANNES 2009, no more weasel film festivals it's cannes or bust. We are currently searching for a latin American actress in her 30's w/ an extra side of VA VA VOOM, and an array of deeply wounded iraqi war vetrans against suicide, in their late teens, early twenties.[bonefilm is an equal opportunity / special needs employer, unlike Hollywood].

kisses from london

glimmer over and out

ex oh ex oh

bone blog london #3

dear bonesters

The day has started gray and gloomy and Staso is in an angry mood, seems there are problems of a personal nature, but yesterday was bright and cheerful, the last beautiful day of summer for us, and for the locals the first beautiful day of summer.

It's portobello road market day and all of london has decided to descend on it, a virtual feeding frenzy of consumption. I ran into John Sinclair, our new spiritual advisor who had just read the first london blog, I love your writing, he joins me on the walk to westbourne studios it takes a half an hour to go three blocks. After sampling he expressed an interest in our herbal specialist. then it's the cinema, first up was K. Hiraoka RED LIGHT DISTRICT GRAFITTI. An abstract masterpiece set in an abondoned building/brothel. The female workers have developed their own language, [which is reflected in the subtitles, "????//£9888888"]this seems to anger the local johns. it is performance art, it is opera, shot by John Fords cameraman. A great cinematic experience.

Next up is a slate of films documenting, the alternative Miss World contest, Andrew Logans annual art/performance fest. First up was the 2004 contest, filmed and introduced by jes benstock. A rollicking piece of pure documentary, fun but not great, unlike the 1973 20 minute version by Derek Jarman, the gay punk visionary british director. Beautiful super 8 black and white grainy perverted head shots, butt shots, torso's, all sides of the performers. It's wonderful to be in this super 8 world, no sync sound but fucked up musical choices, smoke gets in your eyes.

Another favorite was the 1978 edition shot on 16mm w/ sync sound juried by the late great DIVINE. These 1970's films reflected the wonderful innocence and spontanaeity of a pre-aids world. It was touching and heartbreaking at the same time. But Andrew Logan's genius was in the production of these contests. Everyone was welcome, fat, old, gay straight, human, non humans, vegetables and minerals, and they all had to walk down the same scary set of steps onto the stage. Many did not make it, but the winner, Miss Anthropic made it to be crowned and mounted on a donkey, both took the dive off the stage. Happily, the donkey was uninjured. All the contestants joined with the audience on stage to dance in celebration of the event. The soundtrack they were dancing to was ymca by the village people. It was very nearly perfect.

Work now finished, we headed into the 21st century saturday night of Soho/central london. We couldn't go to our favorite punk bars because they were filled to overflowing, in a pinch a nice little gay bar suffices, and it did, the enclave on wardour st. was quiet, until the female serbian bobsled team showed up. Bunker commented on how they were all bigger than his dad. He looked scared.
Once again we were snuggling in our beds, by 2:30.

we miss you all.

the glimmer twins

bone blog london #2

dearest bonesters

Sitting under the Westway, it is Portobello road market day. Bunker is feeling very GAY and witty from the previous days accomplishments. The day started grey and gloomy in our incredibly tight quarters, comon bunk beds at our age? First accomplishment: The bone film advertising machine was in fully mention [fotos forthcoming], but the highlight of our campaign were, a tree onportobello road where the MADAME PRESIDENT of the street association warned us in her oh so polite british manner that our asses were grass, of course we continued, one cannot move through notting hill gate without noticing the visage of celluloid stars. Staso really outdid himself in Kensington gardens where he artfully impaled the flyers on every fence post preventing us from papering the aristacratic mansions beyond the fence.

into the tube to a slightlly different venue in Bermondsey to connect with our local herbal specialist Phil, x drummer for the buzzcocks and it showed in his masterful piece of british dentistry. We sit on the southern banks of the sacred river thames, driniking lager and discoursing on rock n roll. Phil sluggested a healthy stroll along the river as he sped away on his bike 25 quid heavier, after this forced death march, [note to self: fuck you phil].

Lunch in soho, old school Italian, wardour st. Staso's Italian getting really good, we perused the evening free tabloids to see what the hell we did last night, only to find the saturation coverage of our nbf Kelly Osborn looking vivaciously fabulous, [WE HAD BEEN FOTOSHOPPED OUT ONCE AGAIN] but kudos for her for taking a hit for the indie team by bitchslapping a local columnist at the soho nightclub, Punk. Every paper of merit covered it and mentioned the Portobello film festival where she started her evening festivities.

Afternoon chores accomplished, the well oiled bonefilm machine rolled into Westbourne studios, only to fine the bouncer mafia firmly in place. Smoking area - drinking area - sitting area. Pick one - you can't do them all simultaneously like you could the night before. This proliferation of mind-body-soul police has started to get on Staso's nerves, which was reflected in the evenings films, all documentaries on dead night clubs [cbgb's new york - tresor in berlin - spitz in the east end ] The screen was filled with people drinking, smoking and even dancing indoors simultaneously, bunker noted that it looked really smelly, which in case you haven't noticed is banned.

off to the last afro british pub on portobello road, where we happened upon part of the crew that made "CONTROL" [the ian curtis/joy division bio pic] andone of the glimmer twins favorite films from last year. Here we met Thalia's Manchester counterpart, JANE. Many pints were consumed and we were deep in cinema again.



glimmer out.

the glimmer twins

bone blog london #1

Dear Bone Lovers　

Leaving New York is always painful, we arrived in London just in the nick of time. 8:30pm actually 11:30pm thank you American Airlines. One last call and we were snuggling in our spacious BUNK beds by 12:30 in our 4 foot by 6 foot hotel room, note to self no more beans.

Next day, after a busy afternoon consuming British fashion we hooked up with our alternative fashionably ally. our local expat.She was sporting a new tatoo of pagan catholic imagery and was as always thirsty. She regaled us with her tales of failed penitentiary romance, but she promised their attendance at our screening, bunker "yummy". We ate fabulous Mexican on westbourn grove road - note to self - no more beans. After inner we promptly got lost, bunker "They should tear all this old shit down and rebuild according to the grid principal, 1st street, 2nd street.

Arrived at the West Bourne Studios under the WESTWAY motorway [sacred clash territory] via black cab, three blocks freom our hotel, to a wolfpack of gathered paparazzi. ~Of course, Staso thought they were waiting for him, but quickly deduced they were waiting for a true celebrity, KATE MOSS.- who else would warrant this type of attention, POSH SPICE. Nevertheless we entered quickly and met the festival director, JB, aka Jonathan, a youthful late 40's anarcho punk. He started this festival back when portobello road was in it's bad days, like almost everywhere else, it's been rehabbed in a very posh way. "sushi anyone?" luckily there was a bar, and smoking outside where Staso told Bunker to wait for Kate Moss as he went into the theater to see her in the FLESH. The short [10mn] film "The town that boars me." played in a great screening room and the place was packed to the rafters w/ a very lwith it london crowd. The film had extreme production values and starred the edgy Kelly Osborne, sadly the film ended, Staso got his photos of the extremely talented Ms. Osborne as she grandly exited the theater to a explosion of paparazzi flash bulbs. Bunker screaming "She's just 10 feet away and I can't see Kate Moss?, all I see is that creepy el lay reality chick." Bunker cried at finding out the truth and drowned his humiliation over several pints, at the Warwick Castle pub on portobello road, [sacred clash ground].

more, much more tomorrow.



glimmer out.

bone roma photos

bone roma final

Cara Boneresi,

It's friday May 9th, and I've yet to eat dinner any night this week, but I have due piatti lunches, great penne arabiata, and fresh fish, simply cooked w/ lemon a side of patate rosata, carfucci romana and a bottle of nero d'tavola sicilian red wine in which you can taste the dirt.

Radio interview on the Radio Fandango, hosted by Nicola [el greco], a wide ranging interview touching on political situations as reflected in films then and now, yes, Celluloid #1 is a very political film and they noticed that in Italy, not so much in Kansas City. Tonight I have to work the international docs, having missed one of them because of the party last night, "margem", I sit through "ironeaters" tonight, by Shaheen Dill-Riaz. It is a bangladesh-german co-production, shot on 35mm and it was about the shipping industries international scrap yard off the coast of Bangaladesh. It should have been a great film, incredible footage, incredible talent, but it was dull as day old donuts. Cut completely wrong, this is the trouble I have with docs which I hate, it is not an art form, it's barely journalism. They were taking apart container ships huge, it was like richard serra sculptures falling into the ocean. They didn't nail the workers, they were objective, and objectivity is the DEATH of cinema. But it's a film that could be recut and be brilliant, I know he has the footage. The 2nd film, quite more entertaining was "Hafners Paradise" an Austrian production by Gunter Schvaiger. It was about an unreformed Nazi, who lived openly in Franco's Spain, it is very current, being that it is such a PRO-NAZI-BUSH-CLINTON time and actually quite entertaining, A great pig farm scene about the superiority of German pigs, and a great meeting of the unreformed nazi's club, a guy there proudly saying I was on the plane that bombed Guenerica, and Oberlieutenant Hafner is pretty good, sitting around his apartment singing Nazi youth songs and talking about Hitler for eternity, but it's still more television than cinema. Two good wind up scenes, the first is he goes to meet his contemporaries in a coastal town and no one will return his call, the other is a camp survivor who confronts him at the end. Your 76 years old you look pretty good, but in the end the supergerman Hafner starts to break down, his teeth are killing him like the rot of the lies he has built his whole life around.

I go to bed early and am a very good boy friday night.

Saturday, is three international docs with"all white in barking" by gregory issacs, that's the only one worth mentioning. There seems to be no rigor in their film making, I discuss with florence by fellow jury member on the way back to the Cinema Farnese, we haven't seen the winner yet. Though we both, actually including danilla our fellow jury member have all missed "Margem" by Maya Da-Rin, which Massimo said" e meravigliosa", we know we have to watch it in the morning before we give the award. It's phag off night at the cinema Farnese, and I buy beers and smoke joints on the campo for Bruce la Bruce's film, Otto or up with dead people. But the short before is by my fellow juror Florence Fradelizi, "Bonne Bourre" 3mn's long and a porno/fiction, it is phenomenal, PURE DILDO POETRY, this was back when girls were girls, unlike the manicured girls now. I am exhausted and for the only night I go to dinner with the tek festival crew , Massimo, Laura, Anna, Alessandro, Nicola and a couple I'm sure forgot and fellow film makers, Charles Lum [a self described festival rat and a new yorker] and Nina Menkes [l.a.], I manage a few bites and then back into the dark, to finish the phag zombie film, great scene the zombie and his ex lover talking, you should really take a shower, it wouldn't kill you.The phag off party is at the queer bar around the corner from the hotel there is a ton of drugs and all kinds of wild sexual happenings inside the bar, between black white gay straight male female, and whatever. I was a good boy I went to bed early.

Sunday I watched Margem at the secret garden hotel at 9a.m., Danillo was great bringing coffee to the room. [pictures will be put up at the blog spot] and then I finally I saw the winning film, a two day journey along the amazon from a point to Brazil to a point in Peru, it was beautifully shot, languidly cut and mixed with early black and white footage from the first ever trip up the amazon. It was situational and conceptural and poetic. At noon I meet my fellow jurors for pranzo and we basically agree on the winner and the runner up, we eat strozzipretti pasta and drink wine in the roman sunshine.

Sylvia an american doc about the revolutionary italian/american woman silvia baraldini is just fantastic. the awards ceremony is at the Cinema Trevi, and they've decided I will present the award in Italian and after rewriting the english translation I read the award in Italian and in english. It's been a great festival, and I end up a good boy and go to bed early, NOT.

Monday was an off day, though ended up at the Harun Farocki opening and then dinner with my tek festival friends at an incredible testaccio restaurant, cacio e cocci [via del gazometro 36] where bone film picked up the tab. the morning was collazione with my girlfriend Loridanna and Danillo, and now back here energized, alive and jet lagged.

tanti baccione

bone blog.

bone blog roma 4

cara bonesters

I woke up early this morning at the hotel, The Secret Garden, via Bixio 48, and went to the roof to have a breakfast, with Danillo, the hotels master chef and spiritual leader, but there was a new guest who immediately charmed me and became my new girlfriend, Loridanna, she's seven months old and the daughter of Erika who comes in the morning to clean the rooms. It was just the three of us for breakfast, but loridanna was afraid of me and began crying, but a piece of paper solved it.

The film screened at the cinema farnese very well attended and a vocal audience. The image was great, and for once the italian subtitles were very sophisticated. The Q n A was smooth, languages were flying all around the room. My new tech festival friends, and my old roman friends were all together in one room, as Fabio the italian producer and his partner in crime piero produced a phenomenal party in a cellar space right off the piazza. the music was great, the food i heard was wonderful, I didn't eat, believing more in strong drink and hashish. I was completely exhausted and overwhelmed as I headed out the door at 2 am, but I swore I saw my brother in law dancing with his wife, Sara. very toddling town Chicago.

I walked the night time streets to the piazza venezia where the taxi stand is. No one could take me because they were on a coffee break, but the night bus pulled up and I was on it going home, filled and pregnant with experience, cinema and language.

ciao e buonna notte
bonesters